Moments
by high.fiving.jesus
Summary: Percy sat in the room and listened to Annabeth, feeding him the memories he knew he had lost.
1. Chapter 1

**Everyone's already writing about what will happen in the Son of Neptune. Dang, I'm just as excited as you all are.**

**.:*:.**

**.:Moments:.**

Annabeth stood next to the ping-pong table, consumed in her thoughts. Her cheeks stained with dried tear tracks; Hera had taken so many things from her, had destroyed so much hope. There was all supposedly an idea and a purpose behind the most recent, but the Romans currently refused to cooperate unless they participated in the gladiator games, cheap amusement.

Annabeth didn't think much of that and brought her attention to the day she had found Percy. He was tired and dirty, a few Roman campers scouting around. When they spotted her, she was taken in for questioning and Percy stood to the sidelines and watched. When the girl in charge began yelling, he intervened, claiming that they would never find out anything if they weren't civilized about it. That was when he gently and cautiously asked her name. The world collapsed for a moment and she narrowed her eyes.

_Seaweed Brain_

He began to strain against some internal force. Luckily, Annabeth's group of friends arrived long enough to create a distraction. Annabeth grabbed Percy's arm and dragged him forcibly away toward the shore line, no matter how stupid that idea was. She forced him on the ship and when they had all regrouped, they forged back to Camp Half-Blood.

Her mind was lulled back to the present.

"He'll be a little… unresponsive," Gwen, the daughter of Hecate, warned the group of cabin counselors.

"What does that mean?" Annabeth asked, her whole being returning to the now, out of the then. She straightened and her face twisted into a fierce look of disbelief.

Gwen hesitated, trying to figure the wording and weave them correctly. "You'll want to try to force him to remember; you might get frustrated."

Annabeth bit her lower lip and restrained from rude comments about magic. The hocus-pocus trickery was nothing in Annabeth's acceptance range. Wisdom and strategy was something pure and real; what made magic work? How did it function? What was its weakness?

"I've fed him some of Hecate's special recipe," Gwen continued. "He's physically weak, possibly even mentally." She noticed the flare in Annabeth's eyes but courageously stood her ground. "The magic will make him more open to attaining his memory. I just need a volunteer."

Annabeth glanced at Chiron and the silent argument began. Chiron refused the duty, claiming that he could not get involved in the Roman affairs; it was strictly forbidden. Had it not been released memories on account of unity between the two opposing forces, he would've been more than willing. Besides, he was not always there beside Percy to be able to assist in any way possible.

Annabeth rolled her eyes. Her response: fine. She stuck her hand in the air when no one else volunteered. "I'll do it."

Gwen pursed her lips nervously. "Are you sure? Things could get hectic; you might see him at his worse."

Annabeth hesitated. Did she want that? Couldn't someone more distant, such as Clarisse, perform whatever tasks necessary without feeling her heart skip a beat? No. It had to be Annabeth. She reluctantly insisted.

"Okay," Gwen nodded, "come on."

She walked towards the two double doors that divided Percy from the others. Gwen pushed them open and led Annabeth inside, where a pitiful, almost heartbreaking scene waited. Percy sat in the center of the room on a single chair. He was staring at his palms, hopeless and broken, examining his jeans and the orange shirt Chiron had given him. All of the windows were covered, allowing for no natural light. A single, yellowed bulb hung above him, illuminating a wide circle of the wooden floorboards.

Gwen walked around Percy, keeping a safe distance from him. She pulled a small cloth bag, easily fitting the palm of her hand, from her pockets and gripped it tightly. The bag peaked Annabeth's curiosity but all of her attention was on Percy.

"Percy," Gwen's voice wavered. She cleared her throat and her voice came out stronger, "Percy. I'm Gwen, daughter of Hecate."

He didn't acknowledge her. Instead, he peaked up at Annabeth and refused to take his eyes off of her. She stood confidently, not allowing herself to break or appear weak in any form.

"Percy, do you remember Annabeth?" Gwen asked. The tone she used made Annabeth's skin crawl, bad memories with the therapist her father had hired when she was younger. They talked down to you, treating you as younger than factuality, always assuming you didn't understand. She didn't want to hear what Gwen was saying but she forced herself to listen.

Percy ignored the question, staring at the girl in front of him. Of course he remembered her; he had seen her just recently, sneaking around the Roman makeshift campsite. He remembered the interrogation. His kindness had gotten him locked up. His hands formed tight fists.

He was refusing to speak.

Gwen sighed and looked to Annabeth. "Use key words. In order."

With that, she left the room. Annabeth hadn't understood those directions. Key words for what? In what order? She just remained in spot, meeting Percy's gaze. Maybe he had only refused to speak with Gwen; maybe he did remember and he _did_ trust Annabeth.

"Perce?" she asked. No response.

Maybe he didn't.

Annabeth pursed her lips; what was she to say to him? She ran through the possibilities. He had been missing for too long, she missed him so much, and he didn't remember her. She should've anticipated with the Jason situation. She made a decision: reminisce. _Make yourself remember._

"Uh," she thought back. Start with his memories? Or the ones they had made? "Mrs. Dodds?"

Percy stared blankly at her. What Annabeth couldn't see, though, was the most crucial. A mangled, old hag's face appeared in his mind's eyes, leathery bat wings, huge talons, a little purse. The way she lunged at him in the museum. It was a fuzzy image, contorted with the magic, but it was there.

"Okay," she breathed deeply. "Montauk."

The thought of warm sand between his toes, the sun on his face, the freezing water cooling him down. He could almost feel, almost taste the sun's rays on his tongue. The hurricane whirled through his ears and the terrible lightning struck the thoughts floating around him. He remembered the way his mother looked at him, terrified and exhausted. What was her name?

"Minotaur," Annabeth tried, leaning her back against the wall before Percy.

He lifted his head and stared at her, no emotions evident. His eyes were barely open and his unruly hair was flattened with sweat and from grabbing at it in frustration. The Greeks had held him in Chiron's office, waiting for some sign of security and hope. It rarely showed, but when it did Gwen appeared in the room and worked some sort of magic, trying to lull that hope out into the open or just making him physically tired, which made him frustrated. Annabeth worried about what voodoo she was casting on him.

In Annabeth's eyes, Percy could see a form of respect for whatever he had done, if anything at all. The way she watched him, mixed him up. He was already going out with… no, that was what they called the Mist. It wasn't real. Was this real life or thoughts pieced together by untruths?

In an instant, the wide eyes of a bull peered at Percy from the wall beside the girl. A muted snuffling noise appeared next to his ear and he shook his head as if to rid himself of a pest, such as a bee. The snuffling was behind him now then a loud roar, or was the monster groaning? It bellowed and a snap materialized. Had he broken something?

The image of a bull underneath him, tall, wet grass at his feet. Tighty whities. Fruit of the Looms. What was happening? Then he saw it; the satyr resting in the grass, moaning something incomprehensive.

"Grover," Annabeth had heard him whisper and repeated, firmly, confirming.

Food. Grover was moaning about food. Grover was his best friend. Of course, how had he not remembered? Guilt swelled in his chest but he pushed it off.

"Sally Jackson," Annabeth supplied as he imagined the bull-man lifting the woman off the ground, clutching her neck. "Your mom."

Percy's head went slack, and Annabeth nearly panicked, about to call out to Gwen, when she heard him mutter something under his breath. She stepped towards him, curiosity peaked.

"I killed the Minotaur," he repeated, at the same level, only to himself. He did remember that much.

Annabeth's smile grew on her face, peeling away a layer of despondency. She pulled her hair off of her shoulders and dropped it again, thinking that the task wasn't that hard. He would remember on his own at that point.

"He killed my mom," Percy looked at Annabeth. "Right?"

The excitement dispersed. No, the Minotaur had not killed his mother. She thought of telling him that, no, she was kidnapped by Hades, but she knew Gwen wouldn't allow it. Too much information, out of order. Maybe Gwen just wanted the way he had felt to surface after each experience was relived. It could trigger something.

"The Pine," Annabeth told him, ignoring the question. His breathing shallowed out and he could feel his face heating up with fury. He could not just simply believe his mother was dead, he couldn't accept it. His eyes rebuffed the tears he knew would come.

He tried to restrain himself; he didn't want to remember anymore. His life, if it were tragic, was a story he would save for Venus, for Aphrodite. He didn't want to hear it, but he could already feel the tree sprouting out of the floor next to him, growing up. It wasn't there in actuality, but that was the essence of the magic. It was in the eye of the beholder, and Annabeth's hands were empty.

When he glanced at his side, he nearly fell out of his chair. The tree was sprouting up from a young girl, around his age. She was molding into the tree. His eyes were wide with disbelief, but he let the memory flow freely, just wanting to witness the miraculous event.

"Big House," Annabeth said.

He could feel his legs pumping with adrenaline, slowly beginning to drag under a weight on his shoulder, though he stayed in place. The satyr was leaning on him, passed out. He walked the steps of the house, and he recognized it as the building he was being held in. The wrap-around porch, the table and chairs, the ceiling fans, the white trimmings. And as he approached the porch, a feeling of safety washed over him. This place was his haven; he had felt it at his most recent, forced entrance.

His body collapsed in his mind and all he could see was the dirty, yellow light, a fan slicing through the air above him indolently. A face appeared before him, concern etched, then the girl came. It was the one before him. She was whispering fiercely to the man, this was the one she was waiting for. His mind went blank, and he came to realize that he had passed out.

"Ambrosia and Nectar."

A warm, gooey taste melted in his mouth. Cookies, no doubt. His… mom's cookies? How he longed for that taste. He suddenly wished to be trapped in the memory forever. The blonde girl was leaning over him, stuffing his mouth and asking questions, words he couldn't process. His mind went slack again.

"Mr. D," Annabeth told him, a disgusted look on her face. He barely muffled a laugh before it turned into a cough. Annabeth withheld a grimace.

A plump man, curly black hair and cheeks like Santa Clause, yes he remembered the man. God of wine, quite the drunk, and an insanely sore loser. He messed up his name, hadn't he? Peter Johnson. He was playing a card game with a man in a wheelchair. Mr. Brunner? No, they called him Chiron.

"Hermes cabin," Annabeth said, her own voice wavering for a moment.

That was right. The image of a cabin room, the floor hidden under bunks and sleeping bags, items everywhere, people joking around. He remembered their faces, etched in his mind permanently. A boy walked up to him, blonde hair and a narrow scar, smiling at him. And the blonde girl next to him blushed. He had caught it, and his present self was ignited with Jealousy and his eyes narrowed, but the past one could only mock her.

Annabeth noticed the expression and told him, depression underlining her tone. "Luke."

**I'm stopping there. Yeah.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Honestly, in almost every single review you all asked me why I was stopping there. Now I will tell you, I had fallen asleep on my key board and ended up typing a paragraph worth of random jumbled letters until my computer got confused, beeped a curse at me, and woke me up. So I had to stop before the computer's noise was used in SpongeBob Squarepants for the sailor language. Yes, that's why.**

**.:*:.**

**.:Moments:.**

Percy remember the boy well, yes there was no doubt. He was kind and endearing and he could see a fondness between the two honey-haired children, but there was an off, uneasy feeling that he gave the son of Poseidon. Though he couldn't place it, he didn't enjoy its presence.

How could this teen do any harm to his friends?

Annabeth suddenly cursed under her breath in Ancient Greek and Percy understood her perfectly. She had forgotten the three Fates and the socks. How could she have messed up so inconveniently? Was she supposed to go back and tell him, what I forgot something, so forget what I just told you? Or did she leave it be?

She assumed the socks for Sasquatch were not too much of a deal because they were never meant for him.

Annabeth suddenly smirked as the next memory had slowly become real to her. Oh yes, she remembered the next recollection well enough to know that he would've laughed had they spoke of it personally.

"Clarisse," she said, her voice light and chipper, as if to hold back a laugh.

The tall bulky camper appeared in front of Percy, smirking, brandishing a sparking spear. They were no longer out by the Hermes cabin, but he was instead being drug towards the public restrooms. The girls' bathrooms, to be precise. Oh boy, how he could sit in that memory and just enjoy himself.

Clarisse was suddenly shoving his head down towards a very dirty, overused porcelain john, snickering with extra voices echoing her. The girls of cabin five, children of Ares. They broke into fits of laughter until the plumbing began to rattle.

Present Percy glanced around, as if he had heard the actual plumbing in the room begin to shake, but he shook it off knowing it was resting in his mind. And the cool spray of water burst around him, but he was unaffected. Clarisse and the others were suddenly gone, and the blonde girl, whose name he could recognize, was now soaked.

He suppressed a laugh, and smile at Annabeth.

Why did that name hold a purpose to him?

Annabeth thought, should she have mentioned a simple talk that explained she was daughter of Athena and that Percy's father wasn't dead? It didn't seem relevant, or important as she was no one special, but the words came out as if by some other force.

"My mother," Annabeth started, only to have Percy conclude.

"Is Athena, goddess of wisdom and battle strategy," he told her, nodding. "Clarisse called you wise girl."

She thought of adding the minor fact that he also called her by the name, but decided against it. Was a nickname relevant to his life? Not at all, and so she would not fill his head, because she knew that he would somehow fill in all of the small gaps she had left.

"You told me about your dad," Percy murmured, though she was unsure if he spoke to himself or to her. She quickly let the subject drop, not wanting to hold a conversation that didn't happen when they were twelve.

"Dinner," Annabeth told him quietly, not sure of how else to change the subject.

The smell of fresh barbeque wafted through the air around Percy, making his mouth water. He found himself opening his eyes just a little wider to see where the smell was coming from, but the room was still as it had been. Blue cherry coke filled his mouth. The heat of a large bonfire was warming the cold skin on his face and he felt safe and good. Then, a new scent; chocolate and fresh brownies, hamburgers on the grill, wildflowers, Night-Blooming Jasmine. And Mr. D's voice murmured in his ear and he couldn't pick out actual words until Annabeth spoke.

"Welcome," she said.

The mispronunciation of his name gave him a sane feeling of normalcy, which was odd as he never thought it possible. The names he was given weren't ones he had ever enjoyed before—Peter, Poncho, Paco, etc. But with the loss of what he knew, the strange greetings were a feeling of homeliness.

Annabeth went on through the days he had been at camp—short days filled with training with Luke, learning Ancient Greek, canoeing, and things that were irrelevant to his past, but it was fun for a while to just tease him with the humorous instances, such as when he was almost incinerated on the lava wall, holes singed into his shirt.

"Capture the Flag," she said, admiring her ingenious plan in the far back corners of her mind. Percy had never suspected her until it was too late.

Percy however remembered the battle calls in his ears and the way she pushed forward past him. The bristle of blue and red horse hair plumes wavering in the wind. Shields and swords clashing, armor draped heavily on his shoulders. He could feel the weight already on his weak, tired shoulders. He seemed to also find a form of relief in the strain.

Annabeth recalled watching the fight from just beside a tree resting on the outers of the clearing. It was impressive, humorous even, to watch. At first, he was quite weak, giving away the flags position and getting himself electrocuted so easily as walking into the spear tip, and then he was thrown into the river. Her worst fear had been proven in that moment as he stood tall and took down five Ares campers on his own, moving fluidly and calm, as if he found it relaxing swinging his sword at any general person. There had been no doubt.

"Hellhound," Annabeth recalled, the memory striking a chord. She hadn't been able to realize it at the time, even if the reason were simply who his father was, but she cared and was so afraid for him the moment the hellhound made its move.

The canine growl Percy had heard at the time echoed in his mind, his skin crawling and his blood going cold. It was an odd feeling, the fear of something not in his vision, but he knew it well. The hellhound's dazzling red eyes appeared in his vision, snarls, shifting shadows. He could feel the claws sinking into his chest, tearing through armor like paper. Arrows sprouted from the creature's neck and a small feeling of safety came over him, though initial shock swallowed his being.

"You tried to stop it," Percy managed, breathing heavy and harsh from the thought, the pain of the claws digging into his chest and crushing his lungs. The magic went into a heavy effect, the actual pain becoming real, though he couldn't make it appear in front of the blond girl.

Annabeth again refused to continue on with a conversation, only giving a curt nod. In his mind, he questioned her actions. "Claimed."

A light, brighter and more powerful then the true one, shown above his head, rotating and flashing around like a disco ball. A trident, blue-green colors, floated over him and he could recall the bowing, the acceptance. His father was Poseidon, god of the sea. And yet he had never forgotten it so truly, seeing as he was claimed son of Neptune already in the opposing camp. His father was a close figure that he held to, tightly.

Annabeth's face hadn't been so cheerful, he had realized. It was cold, menacing, disappointed. Maybe they had the potential to be best friends from the beginning of his time at Camp Half-Blood, right?

**Um, I felt asleep on my key board again, so another short chapter. I apologize.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks so much for the reviews. I'm going to **_**try**_** and write a longer chapter, but I never know what happens. I'm a lazy person on winter break with homework to do—because my teachers may possibly hate me—and I'm hungry. So, yes, this chapter might end as short as the others, but it will **_**not**_** be shorter than 1,500 words.**

**And I'm going to experiment with the different set-up because the centered one bothers some people.**

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**.:Moments:.**

"You were mad about my being… claimed," his breath was slow and heavy, like he was struggling to stay awake. He _was_ struggling, fighting magic, the need for a nap, all on the will to find his past—wherever he had left it—and to understand what was going. Figuring out what was so special about this girl wasn't too bad, either.

"Of course," Annabeth started, unable to control what she was thinking any longer. She wasn't sure if her speaking freely would be a problem, but she had avoided so much conversation—what was the point in it anyways? She was only supplying him with what had happened that night and what she felt. She could do that, couldn't she? "Poseidon was—is your father. My mother 's Athena."

He stared blankly at her, like this held no significance. She assumed she should've known he wouldn't have cared about who their parents were. She had already explained the rivalry to him once.

"Never mind." She thought back as best she could. It was obvious to anyone that what would happen next would be his moving into his rightful cabin. "New cabin."

Salty air hung around him, shattering the dingy smell in the room. Life, beautiful grey stones with pearls and shells decorating eccentrically, a feeling of well-known sadness took over the room. Annabeth's face was indifferent, impassive, like nothing had happened. To him, however, they were sitting in the all-too-familiar Poseidon cabin. The familiar scent of Montauk and a low roof.

Percy's eyes caught onto a bunk off in the corner, and out of all of the six silk sheets, he was desperate to just lay in that one. It looked soft, comfortable, and he wasn't stirring anymore awake. He felt an odd sense that, yes he belonged, but no it wasn't always so homey. It was sad and lonely and quiet. No one was there with him, and at night the noises out in the woods could get to him easily. But what was he to do about it?

"I felt like a mistake," he murmured.

"Because you were a mistake," she agreed quietly, not absolutely happy with her choice of words, nor her need for honesty. He wasn't supposed to exist, yet there he was, Hero of Olympus and amnesiac son of Poseidon. What was so wrong with making a few mistakes? Mistakes could be good, couldn't they?

Percy's face fell even more so, and Annabeth pursed her lips. She was sure that whatever he felt at that moment was what he had been feeling during the true time all those years ago. Unfortunately, she had never seen those feelings—he hid them _so well_—that she couldn't help but wonder if he had always been this weak, this hopeless, this upset.

"You were a good mistake, not a regret," Annabeth added, trying to lighten the mood. His face didn't change drastically, but he cast a glance, his mouth twitching at the corners and she knew it would be as best as she could get. "Training with Luke…"

"One on one," he interrupted. "No one would even get near me."

Annabeth observed that, yes, he was tired and magic-worn, but the further she went, the more he interjected. He was getting comfortable, remembering small details, keeping himself in the conversation. She was talking with him, not _at_ him, and it felt good.

Percy remembered the feeling of resentment, of not being wanted. Everyone was terrified of him—an omen of something horrible was he—no one wished him well for any reason. Why was everyone suddenly so worried about him remembering? They didn't even trust him then. What had he done to change their minds?

"You didn't want to teach me anymore," he added, pursing his lips. Maybe she wasn't something special to him. Or maybe it had been a hope, a faint dream. He blinked away his thoughts and focused his eyes on her.

Annabeth didn't respond to him pointing out something that had shamed her for a brief moment. She didn't trust him; why would she want to teach him more? "Malcolm, um, he didn't trust you. He left a newspaper—"

"That was Malcolm?" Percy asked, sitting up straight. The words swam through his sight, coating the walls with the newspaper print, black and bold, mocking him. The covered the room, the floor painted black-and-white. He struggled to read the words. And he was angry. Not furious enough to be able to stand on his own, but the tired kind where he would have to be restrained from accidentally harming himself.

**BOY AND MOTHER STILL MISSING AFTER  
FREAK CAR ACCIDENT  
**BY EILEEN SMYTHE

Percy glared at the walls, the words starting to squirm and writhe in their places, mixing and jumbling into new and confusing words.

"You remember him?" Annabeth asked, bewildered. Really, he could recall her own brother, but not herself—his _girlfriend_? She wasn't honestly mad, more as hurt. But she didn't let it show, because she knew that this could be good. He was remembering _something_.

Percy peeked up at her through his bangs, with a form of finality. He wasn't talking anymore. No, he wasn't mad either. What happened, happened and he was okay with that. It was something there in his mind. His anger was subsiding as the words faded off the walls. His eyes were not fighting to stay awake even more so than before, but his head kept bobbing, his mind blanking with each drop.

As if she had sensed this, Gwen, the daughter of Hecate, pushed the door open and made a beeline for him, crouching to look in his eyes. Percy didn't even make an attempt to push her away, his head dropping again. "Pupils are dilated…"

Annabeth removed herself from the wall. "Is he okay?"

Gwen studied his face, pulling open each of his eye lids and glancing over the contents. She nodded. "He should be. The magic's wearing and he's been using _way_ too much energy." Gwen turned her head to the blond and asked her to escort herself out with the others. She would be paying extra attention to him for a short while.

Annabeth was reluctant to just leave when he was suddenly making an effort; when he was suddenly responding and participating in conversation. She knew, however, that staying would not only cause them both problems that she just didn't need, but ones that she couldn't handle. With one swift motion, she lulled the group of vacant-minded teens out of the Big House.

"What?" Grover asked, keeping his eyes on the building he had just occupied. "Is he okay?"

Annabeth kept silent, watching the ground. She ran her fingers through her hair, pulled out her Yankees cap, and slapped it far down over her eyes, vanishing completely. "He's fine."

The response coursed around the camp, startling some passing strangers. Grover pursed his lips and gave a weary glance to Chiron, a silent plea to find her and make sure that _she_ was alright, because the gods only knew she was the one suffering more than the rest, and she was the one who needed someone. She was the one who had lost her best friend, her closest friend, and yet she was holding herself together.

Annabeth silently trekked down through the woods, her arms wrapped around her body, and her face distorted in contemplation. Was Hera's hatred towards her the reason why she chose Percy to be ripped from the heart of the camp that one fateful night? If it were—gods she hoped not—the plan couldn't even be counted as valid. No, Hera was a lot of things—conniving, self-centered, egotistical, a perfectionist, heartless—but she was least unprofessional upon the matters of threats to her family.

Why did Annabeth feel that she was possibly to blame?

Percy was suffering, whether he purposely let on or not, and Hera was sitting, high and mighty, on her throne next to Zeus, watching him cower away from what was knocking at his front door. Now, life was never designed to be fair, no matter how hard Nemesis tried, but a sliver of peace was nothing great to ask. A small token of appreciation was all she begged for.

She was, however, grateful that Hera had not hooked Percy into a relationship as she had Jason. There was no doubt that the attractive boy had a girl waiting for him back home.

Or as far as she was concerned, Percy was as free as a bird. How should she know when he was so drugged that he couldn't function well enough to hold his eyes open?

Annabeth stepped around Zeus' fist, a large rock formation hiding out in the heart of the woods, and slid herself down onto a lower boulder. She rested her face in her hands, silently glancing through the gaping holes between each tree, giving and open and peaceful feeling to the midday air, the sun reflecting off of her dagger that rested proudly on her hip.

No, she wasn't disheartened, or discouraged, and in that moment, there was no emotion. She was just there, existing, taking up air. She couldn't place the feeling she got from sitting out on the field of Capture the Flag, but it was comfortable and fresh and gave her the feeling of being alive.

She began to picture and piece together one of the games, flashes of red and blue colliding, helmets falling, swords meeting. Grins clouded her vision, battle cries, her ears. Off on the left flank was a crowd of Demeter, growing poison ivy wildly, eyes filled with bliss, like there was no greater joy than causing such immense pain. The right post was solely a boy and his friend, one lean and well-built, the other as muscular as a young bull. The latter stood taller than his friend, but he stood with modesty that an old friend enjoyed.

It was Percy and Beckendorf, decked out in camouflage armor, specially made by the hands of the child of Hephaestus. They were sneaking onto the other team's property, going completely unnoticed by all. All but one, of course. A curious and clever girl on the other team had noticed a quick movement that didn't quite fit into the surrounding.

She followed.

Annabeth reminisced in the battle against the giant ants, Beckendorf being carried off, and her repairing Festus for a short period of time. In the end, she had thrown the two boys in jail with the help of Silena Beauregard and then mustered the courage to ask Percy to the fireworks. It wasn't a technical date, but it was enough to suffice. And she had enjoyed herself.

And then she felt her world falling, her hand grabbing his. She was back in the Labyrinth for the first time, terrified, trapped for hours, trying to catch a glimpse of his face. She knew she could gain courage if she could only see his face… and then his sword extended, casting a dim glow. And there was her courage.

A rustling noise and Annabeth's eyes immediately shot open, her dagger sliding from its sheath.

"Gwen says you can come back if you're ready, my dear," Chiron told her, a small smile.

Annabeth breathed out her thoughts and smiled up at him, restraining her lips from pursing. She wasn't sure if she should've gone that soon after Percy nearly passing out. It felt wrong to try and force the moments of his past when he could hardly keep up with her. But she wanted to; _oh_, how she wanted to…"I'll be there in a minute."

Chiron walked around a stray rock and stood patiently before her. They remained in a comfortable silence, Chiron half expecting her to make her move towards the Big House, but she simply sat there, trying to pass a grimace as a smile. He glanced up at the sky as if speaking with a higher power and then let his eyes return to her.

"Take a break," he urged.

"Chiron, I haven't even gotten to him speaking with the Oracle," she argued. "I've barely done anything."

"The boy has an adventurous life," he chided, smiling humbly. "Go. Get on with your daily activities. Return when you see fit."

**Uh… yup. An update. I'm not sure if it's any good but I'm not going to hold off an update for too long. Should I continue with this layout or…?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Your reviews mean a lot to me, honestly. They're probably the reason I update. Maybe I just like this story. Anyways, here's chapter four.**

**.:*:.**

**.:Moments:.**

It was evident to most that Annabeth had been avoiding the Big House for a large portion of the day, as she would scavenge for scenic routes through the woods to get to her destination. If she ever had to walk past the holding cell of her lost-and-found boyfriend, she would grab her brother Malcolm and have him walk between the two as a way to solely focus on someone else's face and not the sky blue paint.

She had visited the archery range most often, always out of turn but dismissed, seeing as Percy never stayed there too long. He couldn't shoot an arrow any straighter than a cab driver's path in New York. She would fire arrow after arrow along with the rest of the volley and whenever the cabin dwellers would leave for their next activity, she'd call open fire and shoot freely.

And then the inevitable. She had to return to her cabin to prepare the Athenians for dinner, and Malcolm had selfishly crossed over already to where he was needed and expected to be. She cursed and turned, full circle, to find that everyone she was comfortable with, anyone willing to help, had gone to the commons area already.

She was simply going to take the risk of scurrying across the yard. A boy with the features of Nemesis was sauntering over to the cabins and Annabeth smiled to herself, sure she'd come off odd. She ran to catch up to him and slowed upon meeting his side.

"Hi," she smiled at him, brushing her hair back and swinging her ponytail around.

"Uh," he glanced around and turned to her. "Me?"

"Of course," she grinned and continued at his pace, awkwardly. She managed to come off as friendly but it was unfortunate that her social status had spread like wildfire. He had claimed she already had a boyfriend—which she found odd—and hurried off nervously.

Annabeth quickly averted her eyes from the building and though she should've been able to just walk across quickly, she found that without a distraction she was vulnerable to the reception of guilt. Her shoulders slumped as she turned to the Big House and her eyes were captivated. Everyone had dispersed and was already making way towards the mess hall, with the exception of the boy being held in the back room.

As she pushed open the double doors, she found that not only had they all left him in the rather uncomfortable chair, they had also turned out the one light bulb. She blamed Gwen and walked towards him. He was silent and she could hardly see his face, no features visible at all, and it was hard for her to admit that the quiet terrified her. She pulled the string that substituted as a light switch and the bulb flickered on.

Percy's head was resting on the back of the chair, a small amount of drool sliding down the side of his mouth. She couldn't help laugh to herself and fisted the hem of her T-shirt, using it to wipe away the remnants of sleepers' evidence. His eyes were lulled open and blinked at her wearily.

"Hi," she said, only giving the slightest of smiles.

He blinked again, slower this time, as if he had been held in a time lapse and he sat up from the slouching position. "Annabeth?"

She nodded and backed away from him. It was the hopeless, tired, confused look; it was the look she had seen nearly two straight days, scooping ambrosia into his mouth by the spoon fulls. It was the weary emptiness she had vowed she would never see again on anyone's face as long as she could help it, and yet, it happened continuously and she felt the guilt this time. Maybe if she had been kinder to Hera…

"Gwen told me the magic would wear off if I fell asleep," he explained quietly, as if he had done something wrong. "I tried to stay awake, but you never showed."

She could feel a lump bundle itself in her throat, and she found no easy remedy for it other than the fact that Chiron had been the one to shoo her away and push her into her activities. "I'm sorry, Seaw—Percy."

"You were about to call me something," he observed, leaning forward on his elbows. This was the Percy she had found at the Roman camp, strong and fully-awake, not pulled down by drugs and magic. Only a moment of sleep and she had found the boy she knew. "Seaweed Brain, right?"

The way he said the name seemed almost injured or offended, but Annabeth didn't let it bother her too much. "Yeah."

"Why do you call me that?" He asked, looking towards her curiously. "I mean, we had to have reached the status of friends if you have a nickname for me." His conclusion was logical and so much more advanced in the mental field than she had ever thought him to be. It seemed distant.

"We were best friends, I guess you could say," she shrugged, not allowing herself to say they were something more. The clueless boy and the wise girl, they were something so much more than best friends, but she could never let it on until she at least got to the incident on Mt. St. Helens. "We argued, you asked dumb questions; things like that."

"So," he leaned back. "My head's full of kelp; that's what you're saying?"

"Yeah, something like that," she agreed.

"Why do I get the feeling you're not telling me everything?" He asked with a small smirk, as if he had known all along what was going on in actuality, but would enjoy hearing the words coming from her mouth. She was near the point of blushing, but she had trained herself to not show any indications that someone was getting to her. She had been so obvious with Luke, and she had discovered that where it got her was nowhere friendly.

"I'm not supposed to," she told him simply. It was an obvious and acceptable answer for anyone, had she not been speaking with Percy Jackson, the stubborn, free-spirited son of Poseidon. He just _had_ to press her on the matter, because he couldn't accept the easy way out.

"Why? Why are you even here? It's dinner time."

Annabeth was grateful for him tagging the questions on the end because all it meant was that it would be simpler to ignore what she wasn't supposed to answer. She could choose to only answer one of the things he didn't understand and she would get away with it. "I felt bad…for not coming back right away. But as it turns out, now wasn't really a good time."

"Why not?" He quirked his brow.

"Well, I'm not doing anything useful right now, am I?" she pointed out with a witty smile. He was dazzled momentarily by how smoky and mysterious her eyes were. All of the daughters of Minerva he had ever seen—that he was aware of—had grey ink stains, no excitement. Annabeth's eyes, they shifted like storm clouds, mixing around and molding together in a swirl of so many shades. "Percy?"

"Oh, uh," he shook his head. "No, I guess not."

She nodded and stood to leave, possibly attend the dinner she should've been up but his next words stopped her.

"I don't mind the company though." He watched her carefully as her eyes fell to the floor. "It's just… I'm kinda trapped in here and, in case you haven't noticed, it's not the friendliest place."

Annabeth did another once over—an unnecessary one, as she had memorized every detail of Percy at his weakest moment—and agreed that their makeshift holding cell was no place she'd wish to be held when in unfamiliar territory. "Well," she shrugged. "We thought you'd go hostile. You've been with the Romans for six months…"

"What's that supposed to mean?" He narrowed his eyes, trying to detect some vengeful nature towards a group she had never met, the only people he had been able to call a family for the past six months, if he could consider them as such. He had to be honest; it didn't bother him at all. The Romans could be rough from the start and it took quite some time before they warmed up to a newcomer, and there was no doubt they had been harsh on her.

"Just," she shrugged. "They're less welcoming. More… paranoid."

He laughed, something she had desperately missed, and he could see the fondness in her eyes. She thought to every single thing that ever made him smile, that ever produced a chuckle or a teasing grin. Whenever he did something right, whenever he came out on top, whenever he helped a friend. It was all in his nature to smile and to care and to be there for someone, anyone he trusted, and she liked—no, she _loved_ seeing him smile again. She loved it, she needed it, she wanted it. Maybe she finally had it back. And as she thought more into it, she worried that she would lose it again. She had witnessed how important it was to her.

Her smile faltered as if she were thinking of something, something she had lost and had been missing greatly. "You sure you're alright?"

"Huh?" she looked back at him. "Oh, yeah. Fine."

"Annabeth," He pursed his lips and stared at his lap. "Why are you worrying so much about me? I mean, I'm just… me."

She wanted so much to say that he was really worth much more than he could understand, but she didn't. She just told him something basic, simple. She told him that he was the first surviving child of the Big Three, aside from Nico—and he asked who that was, which she ignored—and he was the leader of their camp. People seemed lost without him. Certain people, certain girls.

"So, I'm some big shot at this camp?" He asked coyly.

"No," she said flatly. "Get that out of your head; you're just another camper. But people take it upon themselves to find someone else to rely on, and that's currently you. You have a lot of responsibility to these kids."

"Fun," he rolled his eyes. "I still don't get why."

"You will," she promised. "When I'm done with you, you'll understand. Have you had anything to eat?"

"Not really," he admitted, not wanting to impose, which was ridiculous even to him.

"I'll be back," she told him and, as she turned to leave, some force slammed into her. Something forced her to turn around, kiss him on the cheek, and tell him she was glad he was back. And she left to retrieve some nourishment.

**Uh-huh, some fluff for the people lacking their daily dose. **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: To all my dear, sweet, lovingly faithful reviewers,**

**This story, effective immediately, unless decided otherwise, will be placed on HIATUS. I realize that this is against the rules, but I felt I owed you all an explanation and I hope you don't report, for this chapter will be deleted upon the continuation.**

**You may ask why I am suddenly holding off. If you would like to know, I'm writing what will probably escalade into a trilogy, but for now is a story that is like venting and revenge. **

**I know—wow, high fiving Jesus, that's really immature. When you read this story, it may help you understand, it may not.**

**My muse: my lying, but sweet, boyfriend. Humph, lying and sweet don't belong in the same sentence… Let's try this. My boyfriend's really sweet to me. However, he's a compulsive liar about what I consider to be important. Did I mention he broke a promise?**

**I bet you don't care, I wouldn't. But it's a heads up for a story that is consuming all of my thoughts. I would feel terrible writing a chapter that doesn't blend well with what's happened so far, and so I'm going to get this out of my system.**

**Thank you for your consideration and cooperation.**

**Seriously, **_**please**_** don't report because this message is only temporary.**

**My story: **_**Exposure**_**.**

**Rating: T**

**Characters: Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase**

**World: Books, AU (Alternate Universe)**

**Thanks again!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Ahh, well, hello again. It's, uh—it's been a while, hasn't it? I suppose I should say I'm sorry, and I really, **_**really**_** am. By the way, I realize I said that I would remove the HIATUS chapter, but I had to just update in order for you to see this chapter, and allow you to know that I'm continuing. Yes? Good.**

**Chapter five is a—go.**

**.:*:.**

**.:Moments:.**

Percy leaned forward, pushing his food around with his fork and dropping his red plastic plate on his lap, fruits rolling unsteadily—more like _stumbling_, Percy had pointed out—and the warm smell of brisket filling the musty room. With the light turned on, the fan swinging overhead, the room wasn't the most comfortable or inviting; it didn't just spell _home_ like he thought it would. But when there was a warm plate on his thighs, a clear plastic fork in his hand, and a beautiful girl who claimed to be his best friend—_thank you gods—_sitting across from him in a similar situation, he was alright. He was at peace and comfortable, despite his butt having turned numb over the past hours of sitting there doing nothing.

Everything was just… perfect.

Annabeth, blond curls tumbling, laughed at something he had apparently said without his noticing, like talking to her was just too natural for him to even process what was happening. He smiled despite himself.

"So," her eyes followed as she set her plate down, like things were about to get serious in the room; he could feel the air go tense and stale. "What happened at the Roman camp?"

Oh. That.

"Nothing really," he shrugged, still trying to hold to the feel of her lips brushing his cheek. "I mean, I went on a quest to help some god and fight some giant, and when I first got there I was held at sword point. Lucky me I remembered Riptide." He added the last statement in good humor, noticing her tense up. "And, you know," he shrugged again to water down the terrible parts, "after much convincing on my part that I was a good fighter—please tell me where _those_ skills came from—Lupa chilled out. I was stuck at the bottom rank and had worked my way to the second legion, second in command when you showed."

"Oh," she nodded and Percy could sense that she had really only one question for him that she didn't feel right asking about.

"What is it?"

"What?" she looked over at him, almost too quiet for how she had been behaving prior to their current discussion.

"What do you really want to know?"

She hesitated, took a small bite of her bread roll, and chewed slowly as she studied him. The quizzical eyes, beautiful and grey, followed him until she swallowed, to which she set down the bread and wiped her hands on her jeans. "I was just wondering," she cleared her throat, "if you made any _friends_ over there."

"I met a kid named Bobby," Percy shrugged. "But I don't know if he counts since he was trying to kill me." Stupid Percy, never understanding what she was suggesting, stuffed a ripe strawberry in his mouth and was surprised at how sweet and bright the taste was, juice filling his mouth. They just didn't have food like that in the Roman camp.

"Oh," she nodded again and tapped her fork on her plate. He could see that her being so opaque with what she wanted to ask wasn't a comfortable skin on her, squirming and writhing with the need to know and learn. He just didn't get what she was asking. "Anyone else?"

"Why?" he asked, suddenly suspicious of her motivation. He set his fork slowly on his plate, met her eyes, waited in a contemplative and pregnant silence. She stared hard at the prongs of her fork, suddenly not interested in the conversation.

"Never mind," she managed out, cleared her throat, and when she met his eyes it was with a confident sort of joy, the way she had been prior to the question she had asked. She was grinning stupidly—but he could just see that it was _so fake_—and stuffing fruit upon fruit into her mouth as her own distraction, not really allowing a second to swallow. She had literally bitten off more than she could chew, and it didn't seem she was stopping anytime soon. Percy realized, after a moment of watching warily, that she was blabbering on about _something_—and gods he wished he could understand her through her adorable and flustered movement, but he just let her talk.

Her jaw could move at a surprising rate, he noted.

"Annabeth," he said after another moment longer. She hesitated, looked to meet his eyes, and her cheeks bulged like a squirrel pre-winter. "I don't have a _clue_ what you're saying."

She chewed once, twice, swallowed the smallest amount possible, before what he had said really seemed to filter through her mind and as she processed everything her cheeks tainted a rosy color. He could almost feel how this wasn't her, and he knew—somehow—that he wouldn't have liked it had he not lost his memories of their friendship. Any slight change to Annabeth, he could tell, sent him over the edge with awkward dislike.

"What did you want to know?"

She shook her head quickly, stared at her lap and forced the food down her throat, resituated herself in the chair she had pulled up as more of a chance to gather her thoughts than get comfortable, looked at his eyes. He didn't like that—how she looked _at_ his eyes, rather than _into_ his eyes, though he wasn't sure why it ticked him off so much. She ran her tongue across the lower teeth in her mouth and sighed. "I was just…"

He made a motion, hoped it was encouraging her to ask, widened his eyes oh-so helpfully at her, when the door behind her burst open quickly and in bustled the daughter of theatrics, Gwen. He made a mental note to curse her name later, however sure he was that the promise would fall through. Annabeth sprung from her chair, her plate gripped between both hands as she awkwardly turned to face the other girl, a suicidal blueberry making a dive off of the plate and down to the floor with a weird _squish_ sound following.

"Annabeth?" Gwen took a small step forward, then shifted weight on her feet. "Oh… I didn't realize anyone was in here. I was, uh, just coming to…" she trailed off but held up the sack that Annabeth could recognize from before and shook it around suggestively.

"Am I supposed to leave or something?" Annabeth snapped, which took Percy aback, because that wasn't a color in the crayon-box that was her ever-changing personality. She had the soft yellow, when she was carefree and happy, and then the blood red, for when she was fighting—and he wasn't sure how he knew about that color, it was just there—and then a _tickle-me pink_ on her especially good days where she just wanted to hang out or curl up alongside someone… He shook his head. Because he didn't know _any_ of those colors personally, and it was freaky when they just popped into his head on a whim.

"No," Gwen drawled, more questioning than anything else as she stepped around her and made a beeline for Percy. She knelt in front of him, his face empty as she looked at each of his eyes separately, like a creepy nurse in a school office. She exhaled heavily and stuck her hand in her little black bag. "Percy, here. Try this."

She handed him a creamy caramel colored block, strangely resembling milky fudge square. He studied it briefly and turned to her. "What is it?"

"Just taste it."

He held it out to her. "Not unless you tell me what it is."

Gwen rolled her eyes stubbornly and swiveled around in her crouched position to look to Annabeth for help. She raised her eyebrows, evidence of the question _can you get him to just eat it_ sprawled over the creased lines on her forehead.

Annabeth shrugged. "I'm curious. What is it?"

Gwen rolled her eyes, her hands and head going limp in exasperation and she muttered something under her breath. "It's just a new recipe I'm working out. It should make the magic work through sleep."

"No," Annabeth declined, and she was aware that she had blurted the answer out too fast but she didn't care to take it back or look even slightly sheepish; she just shook her head and gave Percy a look that made him hold the tempting fudge block out to the sorceress. She reached out, hesitated, and snatched it back to shove it in her bag of tricks.

"Fine," Gwen grumbled bitterly. She shook the cloth again, not taking much heed of the way the bag seemed to burn with a black light on it. When she relaxed her arm, the light dimmed as quickly as it had come on and stuck her paw back in the sack to pull out the original brownie clump that she had used on him the first time around. He took it impishly, gave Annabeth a slow and—what she supposed was—meaningful glance, before breaking off a corner and swallowing it. His eyes flickered with something odd, a black line tracing across his bright green pupils and disappearing at the corners of his eyes.

He blinked and when he looked at her his eyes were glazed as they had been previously, the lids lower over the milky whites, his head drooping heavy, like Gwen had tied lead weights around his neck. The sorceress stood and stuck the top of her bag in her back pocket, brushed off her hands, turned to leave and stopped by Annabeth.

"You don't need to stay that late," she told the Athenian, nodding her head back to the boy. "He won't be conscious long."

Annabeth kept her lids peeled open so as to not seem rude, despite her not appreciating Gwen drugging her boyfriend, and she nodded stiffly.

**Not an oober long one, but considering my situation of not having the ability to write tomorrow and wishing to get a chapter out, I came to this point before stopping. Sorry about that.**


	7. Chapter 7

**I must have wandered off into La La Land. I guess it slipped my mind that, yes, I actually do have to update occasionally. Sorry, again. I really like this story but my series of cliché remakes occupied my hands and mind momentarily. Check that out if you're in the mood.**

**So, yeah. I guess I have to get back to one of my favorite stories to write.**

**.:*:.**

**.:Moments:.**

She sat in solemn contemplation as to where she had left off and where she should really pick up the story. The idea that she would only have to go through their first quest together before he truly remembered had somehow lodged itself in her mind, being the deciding factor that she would pick out the seemingly useless details that meant a world of pain to her. She would take her time ensuring he remembered perfect images and snapshots of what had happened; she wouldn't let herself crack a joke based on their time spent together only for it to be lost on him.

And so with only a clip of breath she picked up, his eyes putting up a struggle to stay open as it had before he dozed off.

"Uh…"

_Very intelligent, Annabeth._

"Oh, yeah." She mentally reared back and smacked herself across her cheek for just how stupid she just sounded. This Seaweed Brain of hers would never let her forget it. "The Oracle."

He wasn't exactly a big fan of Oracles and their strange abilities, based loosely on his knowledge of how the Roman Oracle worked, so hearing that word uttered in such a blasé manner threw him off. None of the Romans even truly appreciated her—the Oracles—presence so much as felt the need to respect her powers.

Then, of course, his slightly psychotic—and incredibly unnerving—visions picked up full force with four balding, greasy, gas-passing men all gathered around a table playing cards, one of them being easily recognized as his ex step-father Gabe. They were choking on cigars and scowling into pretzel bowls all at once, beer cans littering the open space upon the table and there was a faint hum of background noise. One by one they would turn to him, and one by one their mouths would move, no sound emanating. Green mist hung around them and steamed from their thick throats, hissing not evily so much as mystically. Power radiated from the oozing gas.

He glanced up only to notice Annabeth grimacing. She turned her face from him, her cheeks coloring slightly, her eyes glassing over to a point where he would've been worried she would cry had he not been so messed up with magic drugs.

"Luke's shoes."

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew this was a touchy subject. He couldn't be sure if they had recently discussed it; his mind was drawing a blank. He just knew, the way she looked at him seemed to scream with agony and pain and hurt, that this was the only subject that he used to dare not tread on.

In a desperate attempt to escape the weight of her gaze—and the fact that his head felt like it were made of lead—he glanced at the floor only to find a pair of old converse with two white bird's wings sprouting the sides, the magic item flopping around hopelessly.

_Maia_

It was a faint whisper but the voice was easily detectable. Or at least the gender. A deep, bass tone: definitely a male.

Or a really beefy female injected with testosterone.

Either way, he was still right or pretty dang close. This was probably the infamous Luke that was seemingly nice with something lurking in the distance that tore at his chest with a need to remember.

The image of a satyr being lugged down a hill sideways, those same demonic shoes strapped to his hooves, plagued his mind momentarily and he choked on laughter before bursting into a coughing fit. He managed to mutter Grover's name in response to Annabeth's quizzical, and offended, glare, to which they both busted out laughing. Safe for Percy who was more or less retching.

Annabeth cleared her throat and grinned. "_Anaklusmos_—Riptide."

Percy instinctively reached deep into his jean pockets and fingered the cheap ballpoint pen that was rolling along his thigh. "My dad gave it to me."

She simply nodded and prepared to move on to her next subject of interest when she noted Percy's light snore coming out between breathy sighs. His chin was resting on his chest ever-so-delicately and she was almost certain he would have a nasty drool stain from the knowledge she had collected of his sleeping habits.

It may have been out of pity for the shirt, or Annabeth was really just letting her soft spot for him affect her brain. Because it was late—_way_ past curfew—and the harpies would be out and about. And he had to weigh more than ever considering he was now, simply put, a ragdoll. And she really just needed to go to bed. Not to mention the rules of two campers being alone.

But no.

She shouldered him, which was extremely difficult and awkward, considering he is the man in the relationship and she was exhausted, and started lugging her package out of the Big House to let him sleep back in his own bed for the first night in a long time.

The walk was nothing too extravagant. She stumbled once or twice and may have dropped him head-first on more occasions than that, and _okay_ that may have happened in more than one mud puddle. But all-in-all she was proud that she had managed without banging him up too bad.

Getting into the cabin was the tricky part of the operation. While wrapping her arm across his waist that was perched as-far-from-weightless on her shoulder and trying to keep herself from tipping over by overshooting her balance technique, she had to fumble with the door handle that had always taken a few _jiggle-it_ attempts.

She heaved a sigh of relief when she managed to slip him down onto his bed. Okay, she dropped him or heaved or threw him or _whatever_. He was laying down when she untied his shoes and threw them over her shoulder to the opposing side of the low abalone walls. She lugged his comforter from underneath him and pulled it just to his elbow, as he always liked it to be, and adjusted his arms over the sheets.

With a quick fluff to his pillow, she propped his head up and exhaled heavily, sitting at his bedside.

She studied that face, the face that she had embarrassingly been attracted to since they were twelve, despite her loathing of everything else about him. He had a light spray of freckles dotting across his nose that would've put even the cutest of seven-year-olds to shame and lashes thicker than any she had seen. Sun-kissed skin blazed a trail in her eyes. He was beautiful. Of course, she was biased.

But she was seeing past the physical aspects. The beauty that no one else seemed to really notice or even care for if they did take time to uncover were the laugh lines that were molding into place or the worrisome grooves etched in his forehead like he was in the grip of a terrible nightmare. She ran her fingers across these lines to smooth them, which ultimately relaxed the tension in his face.

That was compassion. He had that sort of thing hidden under the tough armor of Rome; he'd laughed in the face of death more than his fair share of times and then went along and entertained his friends even still. And he would sit and worry over what was going to happen to his friends and family and what they would do if he were to be killed tomorrow, then he'd kick back and turn flustered whenever she'd kiss him on the cheek like he was afraid he'd react wrong and scare her away. He thought about that stuff and it was clear on his face. He never tried to hide it.

And she realized that if she ever lost that face again she'd have to tear down every immortal and mortal alike until she found him so she could punch his arm and tell him to never leave her like that. Again times two.

She pressed her lips to his temple and swept out of the room, yawning as she slipped into her own cabin.

**Okay, not entirely sure if I like this chapter or if my writing style was up to standards but I felt terrible for not updating. If this disappointed some (not including length; I realize it was short) please let me know and I may find some time to go back and edit.**


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